Of Mirkwood and Magic
by Mandyapple
Summary: The story of Rowanna, orphaned and raised by a blacksmith she is able to do magic, but knows nothing of her heritage. She goes hunting and runs into a group of Mirkwood elves who are convinced she has stolen her spelled weapons from an elf and brings her before the King of Mirkwood. She is accepted into Mirkwood society and falls for the King's son Legolas.
1. Prologue

Fall leaves crunched underfoot as a tall armored woman surveyed the ground beneath her. She fell to a crouch and inspected the tracks that littered the mud under her feet. A chill wind whipped her face, trying to unravel the pleated dark hair that ran down her back. The hoof prints were not pressed down into the earth neatly, but rather they were a series of kicked up dirt and frantic slashes in the ground. These deer must have been running, but from what?

She strung her polished hunting bow and ran a finger down the ornately carved lettering along its length. The lettering was an incantation that she had preserved on the piece of wood to prevent it weathering and wearing out. Similar lettering could be found on her breastplate, gauntlets and shoulder cops as well as her blades. The rest of her armor was cloth, durable black breeches and a fitted deep blue tunic inlaid with black metal ribbing. She fitted an arrow to the bowstring and followed the trail, taking care to tread lightly and stealthily to avoid detection by the deer she stalked and anything else that lurked nearby.

A few deer came into sight, but something was amiss. Their eyes were wide and they stared off into the distance, as if watching for something. She hid behind a tree and strained her ears, waiting to hear what they were already aware of. Something else was stalking her prey. She heard the sound of an arrow meeting it's mark followed by maniacal laughter and a harsh, raspy speech. She pulled the bowstring and turned to face her enemy head on. Stepping into full view she let off an arrow at the grotesque creature. Her arrow met its mark with a thud and buried itself deep into it's eye and aimed a second one at one of his two remaining companions. They charged at her, one catching an arrow in the stomach and crumpling and the other running at her, axe raised and head first. She drew her sword and parried his blow, swinging her sword as if it were a feather and bringing it down hard on her opponents skull. The orc with the arrow embedded in his midsection called to her in his raspy tongue, and sneered at her. She stepped over him and raised her sword. He grinned up at her with his rotten teeth and hissed. She grimaced and beheaded the foul creature.

She felt another pair of eyes on her and turned around. She saw nothing. She shrugged and chastised herself for being paranoid and lifted her head to the sky. Looking up she was alarmed to see that she was in the company of about ten elves standing in the trees, all with their bows drawn and pointed in her direction.


	2. Chapter 1

The elves dropped to the ground and encircled her, forming a circle to which there was no way out. She scowled and lowered her weapon. A tall, richly dressed elf with silver blonde hair stepped forward and addressed her in the Common tongue. "Why do you trespass on these lands?"  
"I trespass not, I was hunting and ran into the company of the orcs you see before you." She replied, noting that the elves were stealing curious glances at her from behind their leaders back. She was used to stares, the people who came into the forge had many things to say when they saw her in her work breeches, wielding swords. The elves' composed curiosity was much preferable to the open mouth stares she usually endured.

"Whether you knew it or not you were trespassing, I ask that you leave. Now." She frowned at him. She was rather displeased that she was to return home after three days absence without having caught so much as a squirrel. She crossed her arms and examined the blond haired elf more closely. He had high cheekbones and carried the richest looking weapons she had ever heard of. He was rather attractive too, though in an ethereal sort of way. She sighed and sheathed her sword and made ready to leave the clearing. "Wait." He said

"Yes…?" She looked back at him and cocked an eyebrow.

"Where did you steal that bow?"

"I did not steal it."

"Lies. I know elvish markings when I see them."

Her expession softened and the corners of her mouth lifted in mocking smile. "Well fancy that. It would appear that it matches the markings on my sword, breastplate and all of the daggers I carry. Are you suggesting that all I own is stolen? Or rather, perhaps I captured an elf and forced him to custom make all of my armor and weapons?"

"Do not play games with me mortal, where did you get those weapons?"

"I made them." Silence met her words.

"Those markings are in elvish, human."

"So they are .. Pedin edhellen." A shocked silence met her words. His eyes widened and one of his companions gave a small gasp. So they can be surprised, she thought amusedly. They talked amongst themselves in a flurry of elvish that she only caught a few words of. She waited for a few minutes and they were still in what appeared to be a heated discussion. From the sounds of it they were trying to decide if they were to bring her back to Mirkwood for further questioning about her weapons and her knowledge of what they called 'elvish secrets.' She wiped her blade clean on the grass and sheathed her sword. The blond elf caught the flash of metal and looked at her sharply. "May I go now?" The blond elf gave an uncertain glance towards his companions and said "If what you say is true, or if it is untrue, we would like you to meet with our King, mortal." She looked down at the ground. She had heard tales of the Elf-King Thranduil. He did not take kindly to humans. But what choice did she have? They would drag her there either way. She straightened and addressed the leader of the group. "I have decided I will go with you to meet the Elf-King. And I have a name you know. It's not 'mortal.' It's Rowanna." A couple of the elves behind their leader stifled smiles and one of them snickered. The leader widened his eyes slightly at her rudeness, but recovered quickly and said "Well met Rowanna, my name is Legolas, son of Thranduil."

"It's lovely to meet you." She said smiling slightly.

The other elves began walking away and Legolas motioned for her to follow. They walked very fast and she struggled to keep pace with them. They continued walking through the forest until she felt her limbs grow heavy. She didn't want them to see how physically taxed she was and refused to stop unless they did. The trees they were seeing were getting older and older as they walked deeper and deeper into Mirkwood. Some of which were wider than she was tall. Great carved pillars of wood hat extended to higher than she could see could be seen along the sides of the path they followed. The sides of the path dropped off and the path became no more than a bridge. They came to a heavy set of wooden doors surrounded by many more pillars. The wood was marked with a flowing design of leaves and swirls and the lettering she noted was for durability and protection against weathering. The letters on the door however were different. In Common they read 'None but a friend shall open these doors.' That must have been a very difficult spell to weave she thought.

Upon entering she inhaled sharply, for it was the most beautiful place she'd ever seen. Everything was made of wood, some of which she believed were trees that were still alive. The roof was so high she couldn't be sure if there was one. The walls were trees that had the branches of other trees twisting around them and the floor was wood with etchings to avoid slipping. Everything was polished to a shine and exquisite beyond her wildest imagination.

The elves stopped in the entrance and she made to stop too, but Legolas gestured her forward. "This way please Rowanna." She followed him at first and tried to make conversation to keep the eerie silence at bay. "Tis very beautiful." She said.

"Yes, not many humans could say they've seen it."

"If you are the Elf-King's son, would that not make you a Prince?"

"Yes, I am a prince, to be crowned as King of Mirkwood after my father." He said slowly, frowning.

She grinned. "Touchy subject I see. Fair enough. What do you do in your spare time?"

"I practice my weapons and take members of the King's guard on trips to defend the city against spiders and orcs and trespassers."

"I see. You must be very skilled to lead the guard. What's your preferred weapon?"

"The bow. You carry many weapons for a travelling human woman. I see you carry weapons yourself, so same question." He surveyed her weapons with interest.

"The bow is excellent for reaching what my sword cannot but steel has always been my passion." She hoped that on her brief stay in Mirkwood she would get a chance to see their legendary armory. She was aching to run her fingers along the steel and see first hand all the swords that songs have been written about.

"Then one day you must show me your skills with a sword. I am curious to see what mortal females are capable of in the battlefield."

"Perhaps, Prince Legolas." As she said it they reached the end of the steps and the stairs disappeared into a polished wooden floor that lead to a throne of branches. On the throne sat a bored looking elf with a crown of twigs wearing robes of silver. His hair the same silvery blonde as Legolas' and his eyes the same ice blue.


	3. Chapter 2

When the Elf-King gazed down at her it felt like he was staring into her soul. She forced herself to hold eye contact though it made her knees weaken and her head uneasy. He held her gaze in that icy stare until she broke the silence by bowing deeply and greeting him by saying "Le suilon, edhel aran." Her words were met with a shocked silence. He shifted in his seat to get a better look at her. "Ma istal quet' Eldarin?" He asked if she could speak Elvish, his voice a dangerous whisper. She replied "If it is natural for you to speak Common with fluency then why must it be so unnatural for me to be proficient in your language?" He furrowed his brow and leaned forward in his seat but did not say anything. "Yes, I can speak Eldarin," She continued, "Though most of my knowledge of the language comes from the books we keep in the Great Library."

"What I fail to understand is why would someone who has never met an elf aspire to master the Elvish language?" He asked and leaned back in his chair, his hands brought to rest in his lap and his fingers knit together.

"Because.." She paused and considered her next words very carefully. " Magic flows much stronger through your language than mine." She let the words sink in and watched as his eyes widened momentarily breaking his mask of calm. "Magic." Thranduil muttered to himself. Legolas who stood by his father pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. "Show me this sword you say you forged." The Elf-King asked of her. She unsheathed her sword and walked over to the throne in which he sat. She held it in her palms and offered it to the Elf-King. He muttered to himself so softly she couldn't make out a word of it he said and ran his finger along it's length. Something he said caused it to glow faintly and hum softly. He stared at it for a period of time and eventually looked up and handed it back to her. "Someone has used Elvish magic to craft this sword, there is no doubt in that. I do not know where you found the spells common to our weaponry or how managed to craft such a weapon but I am intrigued. I have not heard of such magic outside of the race of Elves. What is your background? Perhaps you are the descendant of an Elf, though Elves and humans rarely mate."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Tales of the sharpness of your Grace's wit have reached even my people. It is said that you could read the minds of men like a book and tell them what they were thinking all the while. Surely you are able to guess my heritage?" She chuckled. She knew she was no elf, though it amused her that they all thought her some descendant of an elf-mage.

Thranduil surveyed her closely for a couple of minutes. "You have hair dark as ebony and skin coloured from working outdoors. Your eyes are a brilliant green, which is uncommon for people of your race. You have a delicate nose and high cheekbones, though you smile far too often. You do not look weak or frail, as many human females do. I can see through your armor that you have a fair amount of muscle. I would wager that by your dark hair and green eyes that you are a descendant of the Ñoldor." He looked satisfied that he had figured out her ancestry.

She laughed. "Incorrect."

A look of confusion dawned upon him.

"If your dark hair came from a human relative, perhaps it is possible that you are the love child of a Silvan elf and a wandering human traveller?"

She schooled her expressions into a mask and smiled. "I fear your Grace has missed the mark completely."

His brows had knit so tightly that it looked like they had merged into one. Oh this is fun, she thought. "My ancestry is dwarvish, not elvish." She said grinning. I suppose it isn't entirely ridiculous, I am not nearly as slender as elven females, though perhaps I have the elves towering height she thought. Her body was indeed well muscled from hours of strength building exercises and training with the swords she crafted. She let it sink in for the pair of elves for a moment, relishing in their shocked faces. She laughed. "I am kidding of course. I have no Elven nor Dwarvish relatives to my knowledge." She tried not to laugh as she pointed out that the Prince's mouth was open. His cheeks coloured and he tried not to look at his father. She could swear she saw one of his guards trying to hold back a smile. Thranduil looked deathly serious for a moment, and then chuckled. He looked at the Prince and seeing his blush and chuckled again. The crinkling at the corner of his eyes made him look much less foreboding. Schooling his expression to one of regal solemnness once more he looked at her and said "Pray tell it has been far too long since I have had reason to laugh. Where do you hail from?"

"From Rohan your grace, I am apprentice to the castle blacksmith." She said.

"A blacksmith..? I have never met a blacksmith who was literate in any language. Nor can many blacksmiths say that they have taken on three orcs and come out victorious." He looked at her questioningly and folding his hands in his lap.

She hesitated and spoke very slowly. "Perhaps there will come a day the worth of a sword will depend on skill, and not parentage, that a blacksmith have as equal right to defend a king in combat as a nobleman. That women are thought capable of the same physical and intellectual feats as men and not simply a means for breeding. But sadly that day is not this one. Even though I am as skilled as any man, because of my parentage and my gender serving in battle is impossibility. So blacksmith I am. "

She may have dreamed it but she thought that the Prince looked at her for a moment with a touch of respect in his eyes. "I am curious to what skill you claim to have with a sword?" Thranduil inquired of her. He looked off to the distance and raised his brows at nothing.

"Only what devoting my life to the forging and wielding of weaponry has taught me." She replied with an edge to her voice, for she was well aware being a woman schooled in armed combat seemed rather far fetched in any race.

She heard a small rustling to her side but Thranduil did not seem to notice. She kept her eyes forward and focused on using her senses. She heard the whisper of air flowing around something moving towards her. Instinctively she fingered the hilt of her sword and looked thoughtfully at the elf king before her. His gaze was fixed intensely on hers. She saw a flash of a deep green robe in the side of her vision and in one fluid motion unsheathed her sword and brought it up to the neck of her assailant. Steel met steel as their swords clashed. She jerked her sword up making a hard circular motion with her wrist. The guard's sword clattered to the floor and she swung her sword up to his throat. "Cocky." She remarked. She picked up his sword and tossed it back to him. "And now, we dance." She said as they circled each other. She wielded the sword as if it were a feather and expertly parried and countered his blows. They waged battle for ages, her arms grew leaden. She grew tired, but she refused to show it. If she was becoming tired then so was he. He swung the sword at her head as she ducked to avoid it. She stood up from a crouch and used the opportunity to bring her sword under his and up to his chin. Seeing that he had lost he gasped. They both turned to Thranduil and Legolas who had both been watching them intently the whole time. Her whole body ached from the exertion and lack of food. She bowed to Thranduil and waited for him to say something.

He glared at his guard. That glare would have frozen a lake. The guard inclined his head and avoided the Elf-Kings piercing stare. Thranduil turned his gaze to her and said "Le nathlam hí, Rowanna of Rohan. You have the hospitality of Mirkwood at your disposal."

Le suilon – I greet you (Formal)

Edhel aran – Elf-King

Eldarin – Elvish

Le nathlam hí – You are welcome here (Formal)


	4. Chapter 3

Rowanna bowed deeply and thanked Thranduil for his hospitality.

She was lead away from the great chamber by Prince Legolas, whose expression was impassive. He said nothing as he lead her through a maze of wooden walkways. They reached their destination, a small room with elaborate carvings on the walls and a tall gothic window that extended from the floor to the roof. The draperies and the bedding was of a dull silver and the floor polished to a shine. "I am confused," She said. "Why did your father offer me a room in which to stay?" He looked at her questioningly.

"You have proven yourself to not be a foe, and that makes you a guest." He said. "And," He continued, "The only person that has been able to best Melethron in a duel before is me. Perhaps he thinks it would be wise to stay on your good side, Lady Rowanna." He gave her a wink.

She grew flustered. "Please, er, sir. There's really no need to call me Lady."

"There is every need, my Lady."

She felt her cheeks redden considerably. Luckily the Prince either failed to notice or was too polite to say anything. Most likely the latter. "If you are hungry, you are most welcome to sup with us tonight." He said.

She shifted uncomfortably. "Is there anything the matter? Are your present lodgings not to your satisfaction?" He inquired.

"No .. It's just that.. I haven't exactly the clothes to dine with Princes and Kings." She muttered to the floor.

"Ah. I will send for something suitable."

"There's really no need!" She bustled, but he was already out the door.

"Great."

Some time later a young and pretty elf maid came knocking at her door, in her arms a pile of blue-grey fabric. She handed it to her without a word and left without so much as a smile. She thought to herself, does anyone have a sense of humor around here?

She donned the garment and looked at herself in the mirror and suddenly wished she hadn't. The dress which would have been beautiful on a slender elf maid a great deal shorter than she, looked like a grey potato sack on her. It was flowy and had very little shape to it, snug around the busts and flowed straight down to her ankles, as was the fashion among elf maids. However, on her athletic and curvy frame it was a very poor fit indeed. The fabric was stretched to the point of ripping across her chest and fell a good four inches short of her ankles revealing her muddy boots and bare calves. The dress itself caught her in her widest section and flowed down from there, making her appear much larger than she was and catching unflatteringly in the hips. She looked at herself in the dress in which she was supposed to sup with elven Kings and Princes and tried not to cry. Just my luck she thought. Here I am in the finest company in Middle Earth and here I am dressed in a potato sack of a garment. She looked at the garment and suddenly felt a wave of shame. It had after all been a gift. She looked at the dress in the mirror and spoke to it gently. "I mean you no disrespect edhel-lanne', you are a beautiful piece of cloth, but you were meant for someone else."

The fabric shuddered and seemed to hug her frame more tightly, as if in protest. "Man cárat?" She whispered in confusion. The fabric loosened around her chest and the fabric began to glow with a faint white light. She recognized the white light as part of the magic that she knew she possessed but did not fully understand. She approached the fabric with a similar tactic she used when forging steel. She touched the blue-grey threads and murmured in elvish of the beauty and magnificence of the fabric and fed it her vision of what she envisioned it to become. The threads shed their dullness and gained a shine, shimmering like a lake under starlight. She murmured to it in elvish and told it how the fabric's newfound shine made it look like a garment fit for a queen. The fabric swelled with pride and twisted around her, working to fit the image she had in her mind.

The dress in the mirror was unrecognizable from the one she had tried on. The sleeves had fallen to bare her delicate shoulders and began at her upper arms. The bodice was comfortably fitted from the bust to her bottom, accentuating her curves and small waist. The excess material from her waist had gone into a in a gorgeous train that just brushed the floor. She undid her long braids and let her loose waves fall free and hide her rounded ears. She looked at her reflection and hardly recognized the beautiful young woman that looked back at her. She murmured her thanks and gratitude to the dress and it tightened for a moment as if it hugging her in acknowledgment.

Rowanna was escorted to supper by one of Thranduil's guards, a charming elf with high cheekbones and robes of gold. When he first saw her outside her door his eyes widened and he asked her if he could have the pleasure of linking arms with her as he escorted her about the great halls of Mirkwood. Flattered and pink faced she accepted, and that is how she arrived at the dinner party, with a beautiful dress and arms linked with a gorgeous elf soldier. She recognized Thranduil and Legolas at the end of the table. She looked around and hesitated, not knowing where to sit. Thranduil saved her the trouble by raising a hand in welcome and gesturing to a seat across from his son. She inclined her head in acknowledgement and turned to her escort. "Hantanyel, mellon" She said thanking him for escorting her there in such a fashion. His mouth opened in surprise and then he quickly recovered by inclining his head and smiling.

She made her way to her designated seat thanking the heavens that they had not thought to provide her with shoes. She didn't know if she would have made it across the room without her familiar sturdy boots. Wearing skirts was already so foreign to her she was in danger of tripping over the hem, she didn't know what she would have done if they had given her ladies' shoes as well. She sat down as gracefully as anyone with no experience in formal occasions could muster and looked around.

She greeted Thranduil and thanked him for providing her with food. He acknowledged her without a smile. He looked at her garment and commented that it looked different than the one he had sent for her. She chuckled and said that it was made for someone much slimmer and shorter than she, and she had muttered to herself in front of the mirror without realizing what was happening and then the dress began to change to better suit her form. He leaned back and surveyed her intently without saying a word. He turned to Legolas and conversed so quietly she could not make out a word bu she was sure they were speaking of her. Unfazed, she turned to her other neighbour and greeted him. He did not seem surprised that she began conversing in Elvish so she could only imagine that he could not see her ears past her hair and figured her for an elf. He smiled more easily than Thranduil, and she found herself conversing with him easily enough. He told her of his family and the autumn flowers that he was beginning to see in his wanders. She listened intently, only struggling for words once or twice when she couldn't remember a word. This she covered up by saying that it had been a while since she had had a chance to speak Sindarin. Which was true, but hid the fact that she had never spoken Sindarin to more than trees and bits of steel before. The food was all very light and full of vegetables. Some items were a little questionable looking but she was so hungry that she would have eaten anything. She smiled easily and was introduced to several people sitting nearby. She greeted all and made conversation with a female elf who complimented her dress and asked if she could examine it so that she could ask her seamstress to procure something similar. She grinned and accepted. The elf maid, whose name was Míreth, stood up and walked over to her. She asked her to stand and turn around so she could see what her 'seamstress' had done. She turned slowly and noticed Legolas looking at her with interest. She caught his eyes and gave a smile, which he returned. Míreth was chattering away about her preferred styles of dresses so fast that she had trouble keeping up. She was used to the slow garbled voices of the trees near her home, that was how she had learned most of her Elvish. Keeping up with Míreth was proving to be quite difficult. Legolas came to her rescue and by greeting them both sent Míreth spiraling into fits of giggles. She regained her composure and solemn expression and began speaking to Legolas of his expeditions to rid the forest of spiders. Rowanna took an interest and inquired about the nature of the spiders. Legolas replied that they were foul, dark creatures that had in recent months invaded Mirkwood by the hundreds. Míreth shuddered and changed the subject by inquiring about Legolas' training and how he thought the new soldiers were coming along.

"A couple threw up at the sight of spidren blood today." He replied grimly. Rowanna laughed and said "Your boys are green as grass!"

"Perhaps.." He conceded.

Someone called Míreth over and she left her standing with Legolas. He was dressed in robes of deep green with patterns of leaves on them. He looked at her "You look lovely in that dress." She suddenly became very aware of the fact that they were alone together. She brushed it off by smiling and saying "Why, not a fan of the breeches?"

He smiled. "I was also a fan of the breeches. I must admit I've never seen a woman wearing such a thing."

"Breeches? Not many human ladies either I'm afraid, they aren't the most proper things for a lady to be wearing but they beat fighting and hammering at an anvil in a dress."

"I can't say I've worn a dress while fighting." He said winking.

"Was that.. A joke?" She said incredulously.

"Perhaps." He said smiling "It's getting late, I will get someone to escort you back to your room."

"Please, it's not necessary. I can find my own way back."

"So persistent.. Then I will escort you there myself if you are worried about disturbing another."

She glared at him. "I am a grown woman. More than capable of protecting myself if I run into trouble."

"And if you get lost?"

She softened considerably when she realized his intentions were more in concern for her getting lost than a fair maiden needing an escort to walk around. "All right." She agreed.

They walked around the maze of halls saying little. Legolas appeared to be lost in thought. She recognized her door and was relieved to be able to dive under the rich blankets and pass out soon. He turned to her and big her goodnight by saying "Sweet dreams, my lady Rowanna." in Common.

"Goodnight, silly." She smiled warmly and closed the door.

**Edhel-lanne' – Elven cloth**

**Man cárat? – what are you doing**

**Hantanyel, mellon - I thank you, friend**


End file.
